Is what she’s saying true?
Yes.
Go…
My eyes squeeze shut against the tears. It doesn’t make any sense—none of this makes sense. I’m hurt and exhausted. I’ve been from panic to anger to relief to devastation in the last eight hours, and I’m pretty sure I can’t take another thing. I sure as hell know I’m not up for another round with my mother.
Holding my phone, I stare at the face trying to decide if I even want to try. Of course, I want to try.
I don’t understand.
It doesn’t take long for his reply.
I’m working on it. Stay with Coco.
My arm drops and I thread my fingers through her silky hair.
“Mommy?” Her soft voice is full of sleep, and I’m not convinced she’s entirely awake.
“I’m here, baby.”
“What about Atlantia?”
My heart aches at how perfect our life was for one brief moment. One magical night I got a glimpse of what my life could be. If only…
“Don’t worry, baby. Jackson is watching over Atlantia. Everything is going to be okay
. Sleep now.”
Her arm goes around my waist, and I kiss her head. She’s little, but she’s a powerful weapon.
* * *
“I can’t raise a child right now, Emberly.” Brandon Lancaster stands on my mother’s front porch in a light grey Armani suit with sky blue pinstripes.
His blue eyes are stern, and his blond hair is short—shaved around his head and just a little spikey where it fights against the product forcing it to behave.
For a second, I’m relieved. Five years later, and he’s just as handsome as he ever was. I feel less of a total slut for hooking up with him after only five hours of conversation.
The only problem is he’s the same self-centered asshole.
“I don’t want you to raise her!” I pace the painted wood porch in my bare feet.
I hadn’t expected him to arrive so early this morning. I’d been standing in the kitchen in cutoffs and a white tee, my dark hair swept up in a ponytail when the knocking started.
Thankfully, my mother is driving Coco to preschool—I’m not allowed to take my own daughter anywhere. I’m a flight risk.
“Well, what the fuck is going on?” The light beard on his chin doesn’t hide the lines around his mouth, making him appear even more impatient. “Your mother said you’re dating a sex offender? I’m not prepared to raise her, I’m sure as hell not going to let my daughter get hurt.”
Nice to know he has some shred of paternal feeling.
Anger rises in my chest. “Is that really what you think of me, Brandon? You think I’d let someone hurt my daughter?”
His voice rises to match mine. “I don’t know! You might recall we haven’t spent a lot of time together outside a bar.”
He’s got me there. The last time we spoke I’d given him a courtesy call to tell him I was pregnant. He’d held his breath waiting for me to say what I wanted to do about it… (His question.)
When I’d said I was keeping her, he exhaled heavily and asked if I expected him to marry me. I almost laughed in his face. (Or ear.)